"I say," he began between two puffs of a cigarette after breakfast, "I
shall send back half of that money to Julian. I'll send the notes by
registered post."
"Shall you?"
"Yes. Don't you think he'll keep them?"
"Supposing I was to take them over to him myself--and insist?" she
suggested.
"It's a notion. When?"
"Well, on Saturday afternoon. He'll be at home probably then."
"All right," Louis agreed. "I'll give you the money later on."
Nothing more was said as to the Julian episode. It seemed that husband
and wife were equally determined not to discuss it merely for the sake
of discussing it.
Shortly after half-past eight Louis was preparing the borrowed bicycle
and his own in the back yard.
"I shall ride mine and tow the crock," said he, looking up at Rachel
as he screwed a valve. She had come into the yard in order to show a
polite curiosity in his doings.
"Isn't it dangerous?"
"Are you dangerous?" he laughed.
"But when shall you go?"
"Now."
"Shan't you be late at the works?"
"Well, if I'm late at the beautiful works I shall be late at the
beautiful works. Those who don't like it will have to lump it."
Once more, it was the consciousness of a loose, entirely available two
hundred and twenty-five pounds that was making him restive under the
yoke of regular employment.
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